The Life of Tyson Stevens (part 1)
This is going to be a very long post, so be forewarned. I’m one of those people who love to blog, but can’t seem to actually do it. I mean, I do have a lot of things that I like to share about my life, and things that go on around me, but every time I start to write, my mind just goes blank. So, it’s Friday morning, and I opened up word, and I’ll just write this as the day goes on.
Some of you, actually, come to think of it, only one person I think, knows very much about me. So I thought I’d tell you who Tyson is. So here’s the Tyson Stevens Biography (the first 27 chapters that is).
I was born and raised in Southern California. Los Angeles, the San Fernando Valley to be exact. Why do people say born and raised? It’s like I’m an animal that is being raised LOL. Well, I am sometimes called an animal, but that’s only in bed (which I’ll describe later). Growing up was pretty much what you see in the movies. My dad worked (since I don’t know what he does now) for a bank, and did pretty well. I grew up in the the same house since birth. I have one younger brother. It was one of those typical suburbs in the valley, but a somewhat nice neighborhood. My best friend, even to this day though he lives in Southern California, was my neighbor who lived in the house behind ours. We went to the same elementary school, middle school, and high school. Our parents were friends, and got so tired of us climbing over the fence to get to one another’s house, that they cut a hole in the fence and put in a gate so we could go through easier. Growing up with him was great. As kids, we always played with each. We had other friends, but he was the best friend in the whole world. Of course as we got into high school, we started hanging out with others, but we still knew that we were the best of friends. My family was always close. We did the typical family things. Vacations, camping (well going to the woods and staying in a cabin with all the amenities - guess that’s where my queen/divaness comes from).
All through middle school, and the beginning of high school, I always said I liked girls. In high school, I even had a girlfriend. But I knew it was just not the right thing. I was somewhat a popular guy in school. Not outstanding, but people did tend to like me. Just before the end of 11th grade, I finally had sex for the first time. With my girlfriend. Let’s just say, it was not what I expected. I mean, it was ok, but I knew that it wasn’t what I was supposed to be doing. About a month before the end of the school term, I sat down with her, and came out to her. Needless to say we broke up. She was hurt, but came around and thought back that she had always thought there was something different about me. I also had to tell my best friend. After the term ended, we always went to the beach. My family and his. So while everyone was having fun, I took him aside for a walk and a “talk”. To this day, his reaction is what I wish everyone would get. He said that no matter who I loved, he would always be my friend. It didn’t matter to him. So I knew that going into my senior year that I would have at least 2 friends who didn’t care a thing, but just wanted to be my friend.
So the summer before my senior year begins. Right after the summer began, my then ex-gf told me that she actually was friends with a bunch of other gay people. I had no idea. So she invited me to go to this pool party with her and some friends. She said that there was going to be this one “guy” there that she thought I should meet. So we went. For the most part, it was fun. And then “he” showed up. My God. He was so cute. He was 19, and going to the Jr. College that was near my house. We chatted and actually things seemed to be going well. He obviously was more out than I was, so he did most of the flirting. Being so new to it, I took it all in. As the party wore down, I asked if he wanted to keep on swimming, so I invited him back to my house (only cause I knew my family wasn’t going to be home).
So we got back to my house, and went right to the backyard and the pool. We jumped and and swam around for a bit. In our pool, on one end of it, it has this built in seat so that you can sit in the water. So I was taking a rest, and he just swam over and kissed me. I was in heaven. Here was this super hot guy kissing me. It was the best kiss I had ever had (at least at that point). So we sat there kissing for quite some time. Hands moving around, and I was so excited. He pulls me up out of the pool over the lounge chairs. I laid down and he just climbed on me and was kissing me. Things got pretty hot after that. He pulled my pants down and started to, well you know. After he had finished, I thought, ok, my turn. I didn’t know what to do. Seriously. How do you? So I started, and he was getting into it. And then he stopped me and said was it ok if he could, you know, without getting to graphic… oh what the hell, he wanted to fuck me. Obviously, I was terrified. Not only was this the first time I ever kissed a guy, first time I had ever had a guy suck me, and now he wanted to fuck me. I was so into it, I guess I let reasoning go out the door. Not that there is nothing wrong with fucking. I happen to love it. But I was getting up to see if I could even find a condom, and he said don’t worry, it would be fine. He said he would pull out before he came. At that point, I was so into him, I so wanted it, and clearly I was stupid, that I said ok. I told him to take it easy since I had never done it before. So he laid down and told me to get on top of him, that way I would be in control of how much went in (obviously this was the start of my becoming a power bottom). So it happened. It hurt so bad (since it was the first time). It actually was over quite quick. And then he left. He came by once more about a week later, and then that was the last that I had ever heard from him. Not what I expected my first time to be, but there you have. I only talked about the no condom thing to make a point. Don’t ever do it without a condom. No matter how badly you want it. Just don’t.
So the summer moved on. I was chatting online a lot, and had met this one guy, a year older than me who lived in San Diego. We got to know each other and would email a lot. Since he lived in San Diego, and I lived in LA, it was not easy to eventually meet up, but we had decided we wanted to at some point. Summer came to an end, and I had decided that my senior year, I was going to be out. I didn’t want to have to hide at all. The first week of school, I met with my guidance counselor, and told her that I was going to be out, and that while I wasn’t going to hide it, I wouldn’t go around announcing it either. I was just going to be me. If someone found out, I could care less. So at the beginning, only a few people knew.
I guess at this point, I should say that I, as my family, was very active in church. We went to this non-denominational church. I was very active in the youth group. I met with the Youth Pastor, and told him that I was gay, and I wasn’t going to hide it. He was very supportive. We then met with the Senior Pastor of the church, and he turned out to be very supportive, though he did say that he had issues with it, but that he knew I was a good person and that he would be supportive.
So back to the guy who lived in San Diego. I had decided that it was time to meet him. I arranged to borrow the car from my mom, though I told her I was actually going someplace else. She wouldn’t let me drive that far without knowing what I was doing. So it was in October, and I left in the morning. I had just left and had been on the road for maybe an hour and half, when the car phone rang. You have to remember, this was back in 1998, and those car phones were all the thing. What had happened was my friend, who I was supposedly supposed to have gone to see, came over asking if I was home. She totally forgot that she was my cover. So she asked my mom is I was there, and she fumbled and so of went on, changed the subject. So she left and of course my mom was curious. I’ve always had a close relationship with my mom. I never had to hide anything from her. She never had to ask to come into my room as I had nothing to hide. Well, I guess this one thing. So she went into my room, and saw my journal on my desk. Though she has since apologized, she opened it up, and saw what I had written about going down to San Diego. So I’m driving on the freeway and the car phone rings. I pull off the freeway and call home. My mom is crying and says I need to come back home right away. The whole time I was driving back home, I was so terrified.
So I made it home, and my mom and dad were sitting on the couch. My mom asked me what was going on. So I had to come out to them. Of course my mom started crying, I was crying, and my dad just sort of sat there and said nothing. After I told everything, she said I should just go to my room. I don’t think I saw either of them until the next day. I did hear my mom and dad arguing a lot. They don’t usually argue, so it was pretty unusual. My younger brother came in and asked me what was going on, so I had to come out to him too. He said he already knew. So I told him about what I was doing and what had happened. So for the next week, my mom was still out of it, and my dad wouldn’t speak to me.
The next weekend, things still hadn’t gotten better. My dad still wasn’t speaking to me. He wouldn’t even look at me. At meals, we would just sit at the table and eat in silence. I could tell that it was really hurting my brother. That Saturday, I took my brother out and spent the day with him. I wanted him to know that nothing would change between us. That he was my brother and would always be one of the most important people in my life. We had a really good day that day. We went shopping. Spent money (on my mom’s credit card of course), had lunch at a really expensive restaurant. In fact, it was one of the best times I ever had with him. On the next Monday, I got up and was getting ready to go to school as usual, and my mom was at the door and said that I wasn’t going to school that day, and that we were going for a drive. We first drove to the school and she went to the attendance office to tell them that I was going to be out that day.
We left, and started to drive north. We ended up in Santa Barbara. We got out and walked along the beach. Had lunch. And talked. I mean we really talked. Talked about growing up, about me coming out. She told me that the main reason she had been so upset is that she was scared for me. She was scared about me “catching” something. I told her not to worry. I told her that I hadn’t even done anything (which of course was a lie). But I did reassure her that I would be safe, and that she had nothing to worry about. We spent the rest of the day talking. We went on into the night. So we ended up staying overnight in Santa Barbara. Took our time driving back home the next day. Really took our time. Stopped and chatted. We ate so much those two days, but it was the best time spending with my mom. My main issue with my mom was wanting to find out why my dad wasn’t speaking to me. She and he had been talking is all she would say. It really hurt that my dad wouldn’t even talk to me.
We got home, and things got so much better for my mom and brother. My dad on the other hand was still a big issue. My dad finally started to say a few things. But just general chit chat, like did you eat breakfast. Did you do your laundry, just things like that.
It was now November. We always had a big Thanksgiving. My relatives would all come to our house, since it could hold most everyone. So we start eating, and my uncle, who is really nice, could tell things were just not right. Conversations would be going and my uncle would ask my dad something about me, and he would just ignore it and keep talking about something else. By the time dinner was done, I was getting so sick of it. My uncle asked something again, and my dad ignored it. I got fed up. I stood up, and basically said that there was no point in asking my dad anything about me since he could give a crap. I apologized to the rest of my family and said one last thing to my dad. I told him that I was never going to speak to him again unless he was willing to at least acknowledge my presence. I said I didn’t care if he hated who I was, but if he could even treat me with the respect of being another human being, that I wanted nothing to do with him ever. And I left the room. I guess that Thanksgiving, things weren’t quite thankful. Between then and Christmas, I hardly looked at my dad. And things were getting strained between my mom and him as well.
OK. My fingers are tired, and I really have to do get back to work. So this is the end of part one. More coming soon. I really mean it. Soon. Like probably tomorrow.